‘I wasn’t always like that,’ she confides. ‘My parents struggled to get me to do anything. All I wanted to do was lie on my bed and read.’
‘You literally lived five minutes from the beach!’ I slept in her old bedroom when we visited Gran, before we moved here. ‘You never used to let me lie around and do nothing. You were always shoving me out the door.’ I’m outraged by her double standards.
‘Do as I say, not as I do,’ she replies irreverently.
We’re chuckling when my dad walks into the room.
‘I gave up waiting for my tea,’ he chides, coming over to give me a kiss on the top of my head.
I squeeze his arm affectionately.
‘Oh, sorry!’ Mum looks contrite, but doesn’t get up as Dad flicks on the kettle.
He’s wearing the red tartan PJ bottoms Mum gave him last Christmas. She gave Michael an identical pair.
I still remember Michael’s face lighting up when he opened the gift. He’d arrived fully dressed on Christmasmorning while we were all still wearing our pyjamas, so he changed into his new PJs too.
My brother has Down’s syndrome and he lives on his own, although Mum and Dad spend a lot of time with him. He’s older than me by nine years and was in his mid-twenties when my parents set him up in a tiny cottage just a few minutes’ walk from here. He wanted more independence and privacy, but I hated his absence at the breakfast table.
As a child, I was never allowed to eat sugary cereal, but Michael had a sweet tooth and at his age our parents had to respect his choices. So he’d slip me handfuls of Coco Pops when they weren’t looking and I’d bury them under my boring cornflakes, then we’d both try not to giggle as they turned the milk chocolatey.
It was a running joke that carried all through my teens. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t there any more. I missed him.
I didn’t, however, miss sharing a bathroom. My brother is a self-proclaimed Mr Messy.
At four twenty-five, I leave the house to walk the few minutes down to Seaglass. The French doors have been thrown wide open and people are sitting out on the balcony in full sunshine, chilling with drinks while music plays out of the speakers, not quite loud enough to drown out the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore.
Chas is behind the bar, scribbling something onto a notepad.
‘Hey, Chas.’
His head shoots up. ‘Liv!’ He comes out from behind thebar, opening up his wiry arms. ‘I didn’t get a hug yesterday.’
Chas may be Dan’s uncle, but my friends and I have been coming here for years and he’s always treated us like family.
‘I am so glad you’re here,’ he says as we exchange a brief embrace.
He smells of coconut, probably from the wax he rubs onto his surfboard. He’s around the same age as my parents, but the thought of my parents surfing is laughable. It’s not that they’re lacking in energy, but Chas puts even teenagers to shame. He’s very young at heart.
‘Where’s Amy?’ I ask.
‘She’s not due until five, but she just rang to say that her car broke down so she’s going to be late. She’s waiting for the AA.’
‘Oh no! Is she still driving her shitmobile?’
‘Afraid so.’
I tut with affection. ‘Where do you want me?’
‘Hop back behind the bar and I’ll show you the ropes, although you probably remember most of it. Not much changes around here.’
Amy swans in nonchalantly at six thirty. When I notice who she’s with, it becomes clear why she’s seemingly in no rush.
‘Dan saw me on the side of the road and gave me a lift,’ she explains with a giddy grin.
‘I thought the AA was coming,’ I say.
‘It was. Hopefully they’ll tow my car, but hey-ho, I need a new one anyway.’
